Carbon Copy
by Blazesyn
Summary: “I'm not, I'm not lying, my name is Declan O'Grady. These lunatics just dragged me from my home for no reason at all. I'm not who you think I am, I'm not this Harry Potter person!” He screamed.
1. Kidnap

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter. Everything you see here mostlikely belongs to the author, J.K Rowling.

**Warnings**: There are spoilers for the 6th book in this fanfiction. Also, there is possible slash ahead. If you haven't read the book, or if you don't approve of slash, I suggest you hit the back button now.

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"This is kidnap! You can't just - just drag a man from his home for _no reason, _and - " Declan O'Grady exclaimed for what felt like the hundreth time. His throat was raw, his voice already growing hoarse from all the shouting he had done since the weirdos appeared. All they did was grunt and nod, feigning interest in what he was telling them. But he knew better than that. What he marvelled at was how stupid these men must believe him to be.

"Come on," He actually began to plead, "I haven't done anything, haven't broken any laws, so just - "

Finally, one of the men - the one with shoulder length blond hair - lost it.

Declan was sure the man was going to hit him. The grip on his arm tightened, only heightening his fears. The man's gray eyes widened in a way only a mad man's could. Declan instinctively flinched away.

But he wasn't struck, much to his relief. "Shut it, boy! We've heard enough of your complaints. There's no point in pretending...we _know _who you are..." He grumbled. The man drew in several deep breaths and then calmed down after that.

"Who I...?" Declan mumbled, frowning.

"Shush!"

They walked on in silence, though Declan had no choice, they held him so tightly by the arms. "Got the Portkey, Malfoy?" The younger one grunted after a few seconds.

"Yes. Is anyone looking?" The longhaired one, Malfoy, inquired. He glanced around furtively, no doubt to check whether they were being spied upon. Declan glanced either way, too. There was no one...no one to hear his cries for help.

"Does it matter if a couple of Muggles see us now? Honestly. We've got the boy. Let's just go..." The other male responded haughtily.

Malfoy snorted derisively and pulled what appeared to be some old shoelaces from his pocket. "Grab hold, boy." He commanded.

Declan stared from the shoelaces to the men incredulously. Were they off their rockers? What was the point of this? Perhaps it was some ritual they had their victims perform...just before they sacrificed said poor soul to whatever or whoever they believed in. Both men were glaring at him expectantly. Not wanting to test their dwindling patience, he reluctantly grabbed hold of the strings.

They stood there silently for several seconds, which soon bled into a minute. Two minutes. They each grasped a bit of the string. Declan coughed, breaking the heavy silence. He was starting to feel rather foolish.

Just when he opened his mouth to ask, however, he felt an odd tug - and then he was being wrenched irresistably forward. A surprised yelp burst from his throat, and his fingers automatically slackened on the string. He would have let go entirely, if one of Malfoy's hands hadn't been clutching his, preventing him from doing just that.

The town with its modest shops and winding roads, the forest just beyond that - everything that was familiar and reassuring to Declan - vanished in the blink of an eye. It was replaced with a dark, unfamiliar corridor. When the sensation of being jerked forward ceased, he stumbled forward drunkenly, gasping. A hand grabbed him by the neck of his T-shirt, holding him upright.

"Your acting skills are pathetic." Malfoy said snidely.

"I'm not acting! That was - what _was _that? - it was...weird." Declan choked out.

Malfoy gave a yell of laughter. "'What was that' he says! You would think he was some brainless Muggle, wouldn't you, Lestrange? Too bad. Too bad, you won't be able to get out of what's waiting for you in the Headmaster's office, Po -"

"Stop teasing the boy, Malfoy, we're nearly there now." Lestrange hissed, his grip tightening on Declan's arm, bruising.

Declan followed them silently, making sure his expression remained blank, unreadable. He couldn't tame his emotions though; they were running wild by now. Fear, uncertainty, and confusion coursed through him, robbing him of all intelligent speech.

What waited for him in the Headmaster's office? Where had his home gone, how had they reached this school, for it had to be a school if there was a Headmaster - so quickly? Who were these people! What had he done wrong? And what the bloody hell was a _Muggle_?

Those maddening demands swirled through his head, and he opened his mouth several times to voice them, only to close it a second later. His voice had fled him at the worst possible time.

They rounded the corner and found themselves in a corridor that ended in a rather ugly stone gargoyle whose face was fixed into a permanent snarl. Declan did not look around. He was gazing at the gargoyle, transfixed by the hideous creature.

If he had taken the time to glance around, he would have noticed a woman in the portrait to his left scratch her nose and even more questions would have presented themselves to him. He failed to see it, though, and within seconds found himself face-to-snarling face with the gargoyle.

A shiver slid down his spine. He turned his face sharply away, an odd thought occurring to him. If he continued to stare the beast in the eye much longer, it would tear his face off. He was an intruder in this school. It was an irrational fear, but in his frayed state it seemed like a very real possibility.

"Scared?" Malfoy chuckled in his ear.

Declan did not respond. The truth was, yes, he was very scared.

"Fang of the Basilisk." Lestrange drawled almost boredly.

He blinked. Basilisk, Basilisk...where had he heard of that before? Before he could ponder it, however, the gargoyle suddenly sprang to life. It uttered a throaty growl, as though it were letting them in against its better judgement, and leapt aside.

Declan uttered a low cry at the frightening sight. He had been right! He tried to tear away from his captors, to run, but their grip only tightened. It felt like they were trying to break his arms. He barely managed to suppress a low, terrified moan.

Malfoy shot him a curious look but said nothing.

The two men proceeded to drag him onto the spiral staircase, which started to wind slowly upward of its own accord. They soon reached the top. Lestrange raised his hand and rapped the wooden door twice with his knuckles.

"Enter." An unfamiliar voice commanded from the other side of the door.

Both men hesitated. Then Malfoy, apparently having gathered his nerve, pushed the door open. Lestrange shoved Declan over the threshold and into the room beyond.

It was a circular room, decorated with various objects that he felt no inclination to study further. He could only focus on who they were there to meet, the Headmaster. He was both scared and excited. Finally he would be given some answers.

Before them stood a large oak desk. And behind that desk sat a young man with dark brown eyes and even darker hair, which clashed greatly with his too pale skin. Judging by his smooth complexion, Declan automatically assumed that the man could be no older than he was - eighteen.

Declan felt his eyebrows shoot up, and was sure they were in danger of disappearing completely into his hair. "I thought we were going to see the Headmaster?" He blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Do not mock our Lord." Lestrange snarled, his grip tightening painfully around Declan's arm once more. He exhaled sharply.

Lord? Even more dizzying questions swam through Declan's mind as he tried to tug his arm away from the enraged man.

"Release him, Lestrange." The dark haired man behind the desk - their Lord, the Headmaster? - insisted. Lestrange automatically released Declan's arm as though he had been burned. He mumbled what sounded vaguely like an apology.

Declan rubbed his bruised flesh fervently, shooting a glare toward Lestrange. Finally free of his captors grasp, he considered bolting for a second...but quickly decided against it. He needed answers. Then, once he was certain his life was in danger, he would make a break for it.

"Why have you brought me here?" He asked boldly. At his side, Lestrange's fingers twitched, as though he would like nothing better than to strike him. Declan ignored him and took to staring at the Headmaster - only to find him staring straight back.

The Headmaster's gaze wasn't full of uncertainty, as his own was, however. The brown, almost black eyes were filled with something odd...it wasn't happiness, no...but it had its distinct differences. Declan looked away, feeling unnerved.

"You should know that. Five times. You have defied me five times...and then you vanished before I could repay the favor! Surely you are not so surprised...now. Tell me, Harry...where have you been all these years? I was most surprised to find the 'Chosen One' fled; and right when Dumbledore was out of the picture, right when your friends needed you most." The Headmaster breathed.

Declan gaped at him. "You've got the wrong guy." He said at last.

"Do not think you can deceive me, Harry. I would think that I, Lord Voldemort, would be able to identify my supposed 'downfall' without any trouble. You _are _Harry Potter. Now, answer me. Where did you go? Do not lie!" He hissed venemously.

"I'm not, I'm not lying, my name is Declan O'Grady. These lunatics just dragged me from my house for no reason at all. I'm not who you think I am, I'm not this Harry Potter person!" He screamed.

Voldemort stared him straight in the eye for several seconds. He didn't even blink. Declan gritted his teeth, his frustration beginning to hit its peak. He didn't look away. It seemed the two had suddenly engaged in some bizzare staring contest. Voldemort was the one to break it. He glanced away, breathing a sigh.

"You are him. There is no denying it. Your eyes, your voice, your hair...you even have the scar." He said, though he sounded puzzled.

Declan's hand shot up to the jagged scar on the forehead. "That? I got that when I was really little." He murmured.

"No, you did not. You received that scar when I attempted to cast the killing curse on you seventeen years ago. The curse rebounded and...you should know this story!" Voldemort growled, suddenly angry. "Lestrange, Malfoy - leave."

Declan felt as though his blood had frozen over. Now what?

Malfoy and Lestrange didn't hesitate.

"Yes, my Lord..." Malfoy mumbled.

"Goodbye, my Lord." Lestrange chipped in. They disappeared, almost as though they were only too happy to get out of their lord's presence.

Declan exhaled slowly, staring at the only thing that stood between him and safety - the door. His mind commanded him to run, but when did he ever listen to anyone, let alone himself? His jaw set stubbornly, he looked around at Voldemort.

"We're alone at last...there is no Dumbledore here to protect you, no friends to rush to your aid at the last second..." He mused, rising from his chair. He side stepped the desk and started toward Declan, his pace slow but purposeful.

"I will _not _fall for your antics. The time for games is at an end, Potter." Lord Voldemort said softly.


	2. Scaredy Cat

A/N: When I saw the review count...my eyes just about popped out of my head. Seriously. They were getting to that point, anyway. I appreciate it a lot. Even a negative response is better than none at all. And as far as I can see, the response I got was all positive. Thanks a lot, guys!

Warnings: None in this chapter. But I would like to remind you all once more, in case you didn't catch the at the previous warning, there _may _be slash in the future chapters.

Disclaimer: Everything you see here belongs to J.K Rowling. Hogwarts, the Death Eaters, Voldemort, everything. I am in no way making any profit from this story. I'm only doing it for my enjoyment and the momentary entertainment of others.

Declan was by no stretch of the imagination a coward. But faced with Lord Voldemort, a perfectly intimidating stranger, he felt his heart rate pick up. Voldemort was hissing what sounded distinctly like death threats, meanwhile glaring at him through brown eyes which seemed to glow with an inner light. The light was not comforting, however; it promised nothing but excruciating pain and perhaps a slow death.

His mind screamed at him to run, but the thought must have gotten lost somewhere in his mind, because the order never reached his legs. Declan remained stationary, gaping at the man rather stupidly.

Slowly, as though unsheathing a sword, Voldemort pulled a stick from his robe pocket. He raised it and aimed it directly into Declan's face.

Declan couldn't help it. A short bark of nervous laughter escaped his throat. He had expected a gun, or some kind of blade. There was no way he could have ever figured a stick would be brandished so threateningly at him. "What - what are you going to do with that, then? Bash me over the head with it till I lose consciousness?" He choked out. He laughed again.

Voldemort's dark eyes glittered murderously at his words, shutting him up effectively.

"You haven't changed at all, Harry. You're still so sure of yourself. But, you must learn...certainty does not always mean strength." He paused here, smiling almost fondly at Declan. "_Imperio_." He said just a moment later, flicking the stick casually.

All the worries that had plagued Declan since coming to this place were suddenly swept away. His legs shook, but not alarmingly. He felt like soaring, disappearing through the ceiling overhead, up, up... A voice called to him before he could and he reluctantly refrained from attempting to take flight.

_Sing, _the voice commanded him.

_Sing what? You've got to be a bit more specific...what do you want me to do, pull an original song out of my -- ?_ He began to counter the voice, but was cut off before he could finish.

_Silence, Potter. I won't take any cheek from you. Just sing. Anything you want._

Declan didn't even bother to correct the voice; he felt too at ease with the world to do so. If the voice wanted him to be Harry Potter, then fine. He would be Harry Potter. _Anything I want? _He wondered.

_Yes. Anything. _The voice confirmed.

And so Declan sang the first song that came to his mind,

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me haaappy when skies are grey. You never noticed how much I loved you -" He sang cheerily. He failed to see the incredulous stare he was receiving from Lord Voldemort. He was too wrapped up in the song, the one his mother - well, he thought it was his mother, he wasn't sure, he had been so little at the time - used to sing to him.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Potter." Voldemort growled. The mental connection was shattered the moment he spoke.

Declan gasped. He felt an odd sense of loss...he was no longer floating contentedly. It took him several seconds to gather himself. "My name - isn't - Potter," He said through clenched teeth. He shot a glare at Voldemort. "What was that, anyway?"

"Magic, Potter." Voldemort said. Declan twitched. He was really beginning to hate that name.

"Magic...you mean like, 'Abra Cadabra, Hocus Pocus, give a dog a bloody bone' - that kind of magic?"

"No. That...was nonsense you just spouted out. Now, pay attention. _This _is magic. _Crucio_." Voldemort said with a sneer.

His knees gave away beneath him and the floor rushed up to meet him. He had never before experienced such intense pain. It was everywhere. Burning his eyes, in his mouth, outside his flesh, beneath it - everywhere! Writhing around on the office floor, howling in agony, Declan wished for death. The monster that observed him from above was not so benevolent. His wish went unnoticed.

And then, quite as abruptly as the pain began, it ended.

Declan was laying on the floor, gasping for breath. It barely registered with him that Voldemort was within hitting range. He could only focus on how every part of him ached so terribly even though it had ended.

"You have changed, haven't you? You hardly fought the Imperius...you crumbled beneath the Cruciatus curse...what is wrong with you?" Voldemort asked quietly. Judging by his tone, he was disappointed.

Declan pushed himself to his feet, grabbing onto the edge of the desk for support. "What...?" He began weakly.

"Magic." Voldemort repeated absently. "As for you, I believe you have either repressed your own memories...it is uncommon among our kind, but it happens...you're suffering from amnesia for some reason another...or someone has placed a memory charm on you." He paused, then smiled nastily. "It hardly matters. I can force the memories out of you with a single spell. Though, it might have unfortunate after-affects..." He chuckled.

"No way!" Declan protested hoarsely. "Don't -" As he spoke, he glanced around desperately, searching for a way out. The doorway! He whirled around and lurched toward it, but he didn't get very far before something suddenly grabbed his ankle and wrenched him upwards so that he was suspended upside down.

Voldemort moved forward until he stood directly infront of him. He paused only briefly to stare into Declan's eyes, then waved his wand. "_Superficis Memoria._" He said.

The office faded into black nothingness. For a moment, Declan wondered if he had been knocked unconscious by the spell...but then he realized that was an idiotic notion. If he was unconscious, surely he wouldn't be able to think as he could now! _What is it, then? Has there been a black out? No...he had candles lit in his office, didn't he? So that can't be...wait! What if I'm blind! _He began writhing the second that frightening thought occurred to him, though it did little good.

Abruptly, Declan's vision returned, as did the office and Voldemort.

"So? Have you remembered?" Voldemort asked.

"Of course! I - I remember it all now, so clearly. I'm..." He paused.

Voldemort stared at him expectantly.

"...Declan O'Grady!" Declan growled defiantly.

He immediately regretted his words. Voldemort looked more than ready to hit him for his insolence. Instead, he waved his wand. Declan rose higher into the air, so that his feet were nearly touching the ceiling. Voldemort smiled from below. Then he flicked his wand and the spell was released. The ground came rushing up to meet Declan.

"Goddamnit!" Declan hissed. He had landed unceremoniously on his face and now felt certain his nose was broken. He sat up, wincing and rubbing his nose. It was bleeding.

Voldemort sneered and glanced away. Just then, a knock at the door broke the silence. "Come in." Voldemort ordered.

The door swung open, revealing the blond from earlier. Malfoy. "You summoned me, my Lord?" He inquired.

"Yes. Take Potter. I have no use for him at the moment. Do what you wish with him. But _do not_ kill him. I'm not through with him yet." Voldemort said.

Malfoy looked mildly surprised. He nodded curtly. "Yes, Sir." He agreed.

Declan was on his feet again, and still rubbing his nose woundedly. "Come on, Potter..." Malfoy muttered, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the door.

Declan followed without complaining. He didn't really care about what waited for him outside the office. It had to be better than Voldemort.

Declan was taken to a large room that contained many empty chairs. It was a bit eerie, really. It occurred to him that a place with so many chairs should be populated, full of the sound of talking and laughter. However, it was silent and deserted...aside from the fact that he and Malfoy now occupied it.

"This is the Slytherin common room." Malfoy informed him in a bored tone. "But you should know that already."

"Well, I didn't." Declan grumbled. He started toward one of the chairs near the fire.

"If you go near any of the chairs, I'll hex you." Malfoy said sharply. "There's no sense in you getting comfortable."

Declan stopped and faced Malfoy. He summoned the best glare he could...but it was weak. He was tired. "Fine." He said, trying to sound nonchalant. He lowered himself to the cold floor and sat there instead.

Malfoy smiled triumphantly. "I never thought I would see the day. Harry Potter, listening to _me_." He snickered. "Not that you have much of a choice...being a prisoner and all."

"So, magic is real." Declan said, trying to whipe that pleased - and vaguely creepy - smirk off Malfoy's face.

"Of course magic is real. You must have hit your head pretty hard if you don't remember. You're a wizard. And this place? This was where you attended school. Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But you only came here before the Dark Lord took over. A lot has changed since your time." Malfoy explained.

Declan listened keenly, forgetting once more to remind him that he wasn't a wizard, and he certainly wasn't Harry Potter. "What was it like, then? Hogwarts." He asked.

"It was like - " Malfoy paused briefly. "a normal wizarding school."

"And it's not now?"

Again, Malfoy faltered. "Aren't you full of questions, Potter?" He demanded snidely.

Declan bristled. "Declan." He corrected Malfoy. "So...your Lord thinks I'm this Potter guy, then. What has he got against him, anyway, that he'd hurt someone who just happens to _look _kind of like him?"

"You don't look 'kind of' like him. You are him. I know. I went to school with you...unfortunately." Malfoy said darkly.

So two people thought he looked like Potter, one of which had gone to school with him. Strange.

"Answer my question. What has he got against Potter?" Declan persisted.

"He - _you _- were an arrogant prat with an overly inflated ego. Aside from that, though...you ruined the Dark Lord's plans several times over the years. You thought you were being noble, I guess. You liked the idea of being a _hero_." Malfoy said darkly. "Well, heros don't usually get those around them killed off regularly - do they?"

Declan shook his head 'no'. Malfoy stared at him strangely.

"Who did Potter get killed?" Declan asked curiously.

"Your parents, for one. Then your Godfather...then the Headmaster. Yeah, you really had a knack for it." Malfoy snorted. "You also got my father thrown in _prison._.."

"Potter doesn't sound like a good person." Declan commented.

"He wasn't. Now will you stop referring to him as someone else? He's _you_! You're Harry Potter whether you like it or not." Malfoy snarled.

"I'm Declan O'Grady." He snapped back coldly, his eyes flashing.

"Right. Go on believing that."

"I will." Declan said firmly.

A thought struck him just then. "If Potter came back, and it became obvious that I'm not him, would Voldemort let me go?" He asked.

He winced. "That's the Dark Lord or You-Know-Who to you, Potter." He said sharply, then went on to answer. "...No. If it turns out you really are a muggle, he'll mostlikely kill you." Malfoy told him.

The color drained rapidly from his face. "And what would happen if I...said I was Potter?" He asked.

"He would kill you anyway. The Dark Lord really hates Harry Potter."


End file.
